New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1887-01-26

breathed through the kind letters he
had received from this unknown cor
RESPONDENT? All. that was q more
serious question, and came nearer
home than the first.
The passionate heart of the poet is
headlong. He must watch himself,
for she, whoever she was, might not
condescends to return such a deep
emotion OF the soul. Perhaps she had
never imagined he was SO weak; per-
haps she was not heart-whole either,
and he must guard himself from his
own susceptibilities.
Then there came a time when she
gave him her full address; this was
something unusual. Doubtless she
desired an answer from him, else why
had she done this?
lie would write anyway and thank
her at least for all she had done for
him; it was her due, and he was glad
OF the privilege of doing this, for with
out her encouragement where would
he have been? The letter had been
written guardedly, fearing his secret
might escape him; his pleasant secret,
OF the old sweet story, ever new.
She should not know how much he
loved her-not just yet; she might
turn away from him now in his hour OF
success, did she know all. He did not
dream that fair feminine fingers
fingered caressingly over his stheart-
felt thanks, or that a womanly
soul welcomed the love he had let slip
into his timid lines.
The possibility Of her being old, or
unlovable, never had entered his
thoughts, although the suggestion
had crossed his mind that she might
belong to another, and he felt his
heart revolt at the idea. Hefelt how
ever, that this woman whom he never
had seen held his destiny in that
helping hand of hers, and he loved to
quote Burns to himself in spite of his
non-experience:
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love forever.
Week followed week, and the en-
couraged author had almost forgot
ten that he ever compared himself to
poor Realf, and had designated for
his epitaph the word, failure
He had been conscious many times
that his love had gone out into the
letters, in his vain efforts to screen his
Tended.
And now she had written that, in a.
few days, she would pass through his
village on her way to visit friends IN
the adjoining State, and had added:
GAS | will be obliged to wait Anew
hours ilfyour town, should be hap
py to call on you, if you will be at
home" -a..
At home? He would always be at
home when his good, angel chose to
bless him with a visit, so he replied
that he would be overjoyed to see her.
Since then he had been waiting, and
each day had seemed an eternity in
itself.
He sat in his study, trying to mus
ter his thoughts to the completion OF
his last sonnet, but some way they
were refractory in the extreme, and
could not be managed.
The loneliness OF the May morning
beamed in through the open VIII 'ow,
and the fragrant breath of the 81 G.
time stole softly in over the easement
to charm his poet soul into the arms
OF the Muse, but in vain. The arrival
OF every train made him nervous, and
the sound of footsteps on the walk
outside caused him to start. Even
Shakespeare could not have written a
line correctly in this state of excite
ment, he was sure. He threw down
his pen in disgust and kicked his slip
pers across the room in his impa-
thence; then he went over and put his
feet into them, calmly and solemnly,
as if doing penance.
"Only an old FRIEND" he heard some
one say in the hall; OF course it was
the old woman with the book agency
come again. He had seenahe pass the
window only a few minutes before, and
had hoped, shefor once, would be kind
enough to go on by; but she had not,
and she always said 'tan old FRIEND
to the housekeeper; so when some one
tapped on his study door, he
merely growled out; "Come in" She
did not mind his discOurtesy-boo
agents never debut came in, as he
had ungraciously invited her to do,
and he looked up. It wasn't old Mrs.
Jones with her gold-bowed spectacles
at all. A quiet-looking lady stood
there with a perplexed look on her
face. "It is l." she said, coming for
ward, and holding out her hand.
"Have l disturbed you by my uncere-
moniouscall?"
He stammered something, meant
for an apology, as he rose and took
she profered hand She did not mind
his confusion, knowing from the look
in his dark eyes that she was welcome
assthe sunshine.
Then this was the woman of whom
he had dreamed so much-and, per-
haps, in vain. She was not beautiful.
No; but she had a kindly face, and
was lovable. There was wide
awake, tender sincerity in her counte-
nance, he loved. In short, she was a
womanly woman, and not a man.
What relief to find she was not
one of the ''fuss and feathers sort OF
women; but, OF course, had she been.
she never would have thought of him.